Lifelines
by Azpidistra
Summary: The night before Dumbledore's funeral, Remus and Tonks have a talk.


Tonks is sitting across from me. Her hair is still the same muddy brown it's been for weeks now, and she's holding the mug too tightly in her hands. I'm afraid it will shatter. I calmly take it from her, and set it next to mine on the tiny table between us. "Dora," I say quietly, and I can almost see her smile. "Dora."

"Don't call me that," she manages to whisper.

"What are you thinking?"

It's a question you used to ask me all the time. From all those times we would sit by the Lake and smoke cigarettes together--you for the rebeliion, and me, me because it helped to calm my nerves between the full moons.

You asked me that the morning after you tried to kill Severus and James had to rescue him, and I awoke from a particular bad night to find you at my bedside, chin resting on your elbows, eyes peeking out from behind your hair. Your fingers tightened around the linen of the cool, cotton sheets, forming wrinkles before you smoothed them back out again. You didn't say anything for several moments, and then you asked me that. _"What are you thinking?"_ And I shook my head, and bit my lower lips, and you continued first forming then smoothing out your sheet wrinkles, when I finally reached a hand out to cover yours with mine, and asked you to stop.

_"You're not upset, are you?"_ you asked.

_"Of course I am,"_ I responded, and you closed your eyes, waiting, patiently, like a puppy, whose just been sent away. _"But I am angry. Just not at you. I know--I know you were trying to protect me, in some misbegotten way. Thank you."_

You smiled then, and moved your hand slightly so your fingers linked with mine.

I ask Tonks the question again.

"I'm thinking about what Minerva said this evening, about how Dumbledore would want everyone to be happy."

"Ah." I leaned back in my chair, and a gentle smile played across my otherwise expressionless features. "Do you think he would want us to sacrifice ourselves for such happiness?"

"I could make you happy, Remus," she whispered.

"I know you could," I too whispered, and even I could hear the pain and agony in the crevices of my voice. Tonks looked upwards briefly, trying to catch my eyes, but I had closed them, and wouldn't look anywhere in the direction I could sense her face. Only you could ever truly read me. I only let you truly read me so easily. "But it's not so simple."

"Too old, too dangerous, right?"

"And too gay." My eyes fluttered open. "I loved Sirius."

"You still love him."

"Yes."

"He's not coming back, Remus. I miss him too; outside my parents, he was possibly the only decent relative I had. He was my mother's favorite cousin. He was my favorite cousin. I remember when he baby-sat me. He almost always brought you. But he's not coming back."

"I know he's not." My voice is pained. More so now.

"Don't you think it's time you moved on, Remus? I am not trying to replace him; I know I cannot replace him, and I don't want to. I'll be with you under any circumstances you give me, as long as I am with you."

"I'm sorry, Dora. But--but--I just need more time." My voice faltered. I need you here with me. I'm no good at this type of stuff without you.

"It's already been a year."

"I lost him for a dozen years, only to find him again, and then to lose him again. Those two years we had together between found and lost were difficult. We had both changed: we had grown older, we were a little bit harder, no longer so idealistic. Yet, here we were, together again, this last lifeline someone had thrown out to us just when we were getting ready to drown. It's somewhat like that again, feeling like I'm about to drown, only this time, no lifeline is swimming out to save me."

"I could be your lifeline."

"No, you could not. I'm sorry. Really. I am."

"I know." Tonks sighed. "I'm sorry too." She smiled a little then, and stood as if to leave. "Thank you, Remus. Really. Just, could you promise me one thing?"

"What?"

"Would you sit with me tomorrow at Dumbledore's funeral?"

"Ok," I heard myself agree.

"Thank you," she whispered, and she was gone.

I didn't move for a few seconds, and even then, my movements were slow, much more like a man twice my current thirty-six years. I collected the two mugs and brought them over to the sink.

I stood there, wishing for the first time in years that I had a cigarette.

A cigarette.

Or a lifeline.

Or, most importantly, you.

I wish I had you.


End file.
